Chapter 13

TWO WOMEN

Mercedes stood in the shade of the towering hillside, the single beam of light shining from an uncurtained window alone faintly revealing her slenderness of figure in its red drapery. No other gleam anywhere cleft the prevailing darkness of the night, and the only perceptible sound was that of horses' hoofs dying away in the distance. The girl was not crying, although one of her hands was held across her eyes, and her bosom rose and fell tumultuously to labored breathing. She stood silent, motionless, the strange radiance causing her to appear unreal, some divinely moulded statue, an artist's dream carven in colored stone. Suddenly she sprang backward from out that revealing tongue of light and crouched low at the angle of the house, not unlike some affrighted wild animal, her head bent forward intently listening. There was a plainly perceptible movement in the gloom, the sound of an approaching footstep and of rapid breathing, and finally a shadow became visible. The watcher leaped to her feet half angrily.

"Ah! so eet vas you, señorita!" she exclaimed, her voice betraying her emotion,--"you, who come so dis night. _Sapristi_! vy you follow me dis vay? By all de saints, I make you tell me dat! You vant him, too? You vant rob me of all thing?"

The visitor, startled by this sudden challenge, stood before her trembling from head to foot with the nervous excitement of her journey, yet her eyes remained darkly resolute.

"You recognize me," she responded quickly, reaching out and touching the other with one hand, as if to make certain of her actual presence. "Then for God's sake do not waste time now in quarrelling. I did not make this trip without a purpose. 'He,' you say? Who is he? Who was it that rode away from here just now? Not Farnham?"

Mercedes laughed a trifle uneasily, her eyes suddenly lowered before the other's anxious scrutiny.

"Ah, no, señorita," she answered softly. "Eet surprises me mooch you not know; eet vas Señor Brown."

Miss Norvell grasped her firmly by the shoulder.

"Brown?" she exclaimed eagerly. "Stutter Brown? Oh, call him back; cannot you call him back?"

The young Mexican shook her head, her white teeth gleaming, as she drew her shoulder free from the fingers clasping it.

"You vas too late, señorita," she replied, sweetly confident. "He vas already gone to de 'Little Yankee.' But he speak mooch to me first."

"Much about what?"

"Vel, he say he lofe me--he say eet straight, like eet vas vat he meant."

"Oh!"

"Si, señorita; he not even talk funny, maybe he so excited he forgot how, hey? An' vat you tink dat he say den to Mercedes--vat?"

The other shook her head, undecided, hesitating as to her own purpose.

"He ask me vould I marry him. Si, si, vat you tink of dat--me, Mercedes Morales, de dancer at de Gayety--he ask me vould I marry him. Oh, Mother of God!"

The young American stared at her upturned animated face, suddenly aroused to womanly interest.

"And what did you say?"

Mercedes stamped her foot savagely on the hard ground, her eyes glowing like coals of fire.

"You ask vat I say? Saints of God! vat could I say? He vas a good man, dat Señor Brown, but I--I vas not a good voman. I no tell him dat--no! no! I vas shamed; I get red, vite; I hardly speak at all; my heart thump so I tink maybe eet choke me up here, but I say no. I say no once, tvice, tree time. I tell him he big fool to tink like dat of me. I tell him go vay an' find voman of his own race--good voman. I tell him eet could nevah be me, no, nevah."

"Then you do not love him?"

The puzzled dancer hesitated, her long lashes lowered, and outlined against her cheeks.

"Lofe? Dat vas not nice vord as eet come to me. I know not ver' vell just vat. Maybe if I not lofe him I marry him--si; I no care den. I make him to suffer, but not care; ees eet not so? Anyhow, I--vat you call dat?--respect dis Señor Brown mooch, ver' mooch. Maybe dat last longer as lofe--_quien sabe_?"

Scarcely comprehending this peculiar explanation, Beth Norvell's first conception was that the girl had chosen wrong, that she had allied herself upon the side of evil.

"You mean you--you will go back to Biff Farnham?" she asked, her tone full of horror.

Mercedes straightened up quickly, her young, expressive face filled with a new passion, which struggled almost vainly for utterance through her lips.

"Go back to dat man!" she panted. "Me? _Sapristi_! and you tink I do dat after Señor Brown ask me be hees vife! Blessed Mary! vat you tink I am? You tink I not feel, not care? I go back to dat Farnham? Eet vould not be, no! no! I tol' him dat mooch, an' he got mad. I no care, I like dat. I no lofe him, nevah; I vas sold to him for money, like sheep, but I learn to hate him to kill." The deep glow of the black eyes softened, and her head slowly dropped until it touched the other's extended arm. "But dis Señor Brown he vas not dat kind--he ask me to marry him; he say he not care vat I been, only he lofe me, an' he be good to me alvays. I vas hungry for dat, señorita, but I say no, no, no! Eet vas not for me, nevah. I send him avay so sorry, an' den I cry ven I hear his horse go out yonder. Eet vas like he tread on me, eet hurt dat vay. Maybe I no lofe him, but I know he vas good man an' he lofe me. Eet vas de honor ven he ask me dat, an' now I be good voman because a good man lofes me. Holy Mother! eet vill be easy now dat he vanted to marry me."

Impulsively Beth Norvell, her own eyes moist, held the other, sobbing like a child within the clasp of sympathetic arms. There was instantly formed between them a new bond, a new feeling of awakened womanhood. Yet, even as her fingers continued to stroke the dishevelled hair softly, there flashed across her mind a recurring memory of her purpose, the necessity for immediate action. Not for an instant longer did she doubt the complete honesty of the other's frank avowal, or question the propriety of requesting her aid in thwarting Farnham. She held the slight, quivering figure back, so that she might gaze into the uplifted, questioning face.

"Mercedes, yes, yes, I understand it all," she cried eagerly. "But we cannot talk about it any longer now. It is a wonderful thing, this love of a good man; but we are wasting time that may mean life or death to others, perhaps even to him. Listen to what I say--Farnham has already gone to the 'Little Yankee,' and taken a gang of roughs with him. They left San Juan on horseback more than half an hour ago. He threatened me first, and boasted that Mr. Winston was out there, and that I was too late to warn him of danger. Oh, girl, you understand what that means; you know him well, you must realize what he is capable of doing. I came here as fast as I could in the dark," she shuddered, glancing backward across her shoulder. "Every step was a way of horrors, but I did n't know any one who could help me. But you--you know the way to the 'Little Yankee,' and we--we must get there before daylight, if we have to crawl."

All that was savagely animal in the other's untamed nature flamed into her face.

"He say vat? Señor Farnham he say vat he do?"

"He said dynamite told no tales, but sometimes killed more than the one intended."

Mercedes' hand went to her head as though a pain had smitten her, and she stepped back, half crouching in the glow like a tiger cat.

"He say dat? De man say dat? Holy Angels! he vas de bad devil, but he find me de bad devil too. Ah, now I play him de game, an' ve see who vin! De 'Leetle Yankee,' eet tree mile, señorita, an' de road rough, mooch rough, but I know eet--si, I know eet, an' ve get dare before de day come; sure ve do eet, _bueno_." She grasped the arm of the other, now fully aroused, her slight form quivering from intense excitement. "Come, I show you. See! he vas my pony--ah! eet makes me to laugh to know de Señor Farnham give him me; now I make him to upset de Señor Farnham. _Sapristi_! eet vas vat you call de vay of de vorld, de verligig; vas eet not so? You ride de pony, señorita; I valk an' lead him--si, si, you more tired as Mercedes; I danseuse, no tire ever in de legs. Den I find de vay more easy on foot in de dark, see? You ride good, hey? He jump little, maybe, but he de ver' nice pony, an' I no let him run. No, no, de odder vay, señorita, like de man ride. Poof! it no harm in de dark. _Bueno_, now ve go to surprise de Señor Farnham."

She led promptly forth as she spoke, moving with perfect confidence down the irregular trail skirting the bank of the creek, her left hand grasping the pony's bit firmly, the other shading her eyes as though to aid in the selection of a path through the gloom. It was a rough, uneven, winding road they followed, apparently but little used, littered with loose stones and projecting roots; yet, after a moment of fierce but useless rebellion, the lively mustang sobered down into a cautious picking of his passage amid the debris, obedient as a dog to the soft voice of his mistress. The problems of advance were far too complicated to permit of much conversation, and little effort at speech was made by either, the principal thought in each mind being the necessity for haste.

Swaying on the saddleless back of the pony, her anxious gaze on the dimly revealed, slender figure trudging sturdily in front, Beth Norvell began to dread the necessity of again having to meet Winston under such conditions. What would he naturally think? He could scarcely fail to construe such action on his behalf as one inspired by deep personal interest, and she instinctively shrank from such revealment, fearing his glance, his word of welcome, his expressions of surprised gratitude. The awkwardness, the probable embarrassment involved, became more and more apparent as she looked forward to that meeting. If possible, she would gladly drop out, and so permit the other to bear on the message of warning alone. But, even with Mercedes' undoubted interest in Brown, and her increasing dislike of Farnham, Beth could not as yet entirely trust her unaccompanied. Besides, there was no excuse to offer for such sudden withdrawal, no reason she durst even whisper into the ear of another. No, there was nothing left her but to go on; let him think what he might of her action, she would not fail to do her best to serve him, and beneath the safe cover of darkness she blushed scarlet, her long lashes moist with tears that could not be restrained. They were at the bottom of the black canyon now, the high, uplifting rock walls on either side blotting out the stars and rendering the surrounding gloom intense. The young Mexican girl seemed to have the eyes of a cat, or else was guided by some instinct of the wild, feeling her passage slowly yet surely forward, every nerve alert, and occasionally pausing to listen to some strange night sound. It was a weird, uncanny journey, in which the nerves tingled to uncouth shapes and the wild echoing of mountain voices. Once, at such a moment of continued suspense, Beth Norvell bent forward and whispered a sentence into her ear. The girl started, impulsively pressing her lips against the white hand grasping the pony's mane.

"No, no, señorita," she said softly. "Not dat; not because he lofe me; because he ask me dat. Si, I make him not so sorry."

She remembered that vast overhanging rock about which the dim trail circled as it swept upward toward where the "Little Yankee" perched against the sky-line. Undaunted by the narrowness of the ledge, the willing, sure-footed mustang began climbing the steep grade. Step by step they crept up, cautiously advancing from out the bottom of the cleft, the path followed winding in and out among bewildering cedars, and skirting unknown depths of ravines. Mercedes was breathing heavily, her unoccupied hand grasping the trailing skirt which interfered with her climbing. Miss Norvell, from her higher perch on the pony's back, glanced behind apprehensively. Far away to the east a faint, uncertain tinge of gray was shading into the sky. Suddenly a detached stone rattled in their front; there echoed the sharp click of a rifle hammer, mingled with the sound of a gruff, unfamiliar voice:

"You come another step, an' I 'll blow hell out o' yer. _Sabe_?"

It all occurred so quickly that neither spoke; they caught their breath and waited in suspense. A shadow, dim, ill-defined, seemed to take partial form in their front.

"Well, can't yer speak?" questioned the same voice, growlingly. "What yer doin' on this yere trail?"

Mercedes released the pony's bit, and leaned eagerly forward.

"Vas dat you, Beell Heeks?" she questioned, doubtfully.

The man swore, the butt of his quickly lowered rifle striking sharply against the rock at his feet.

"I 'm damned if it ain't that Mexican agin," he exclaimed, angrily. "Now, you get out o' yere; you hear me? I 'm blamed if I kin shoot at no female, but you got in one measly spyin' job on this outfit, an' I 'll not put up with another if I have ter pitch ye out inter the canyon. So you git plum out o' yere, an' tell yer friend Farnham he better take more care o' his females, or some of 'em are liable ter get hurt."

There was the harsh crunch of a footstep in the darkness, another figure suddenly slid down the smooth surface of rock, dropping almost at the pony's head. The animal shied with a quick leap, but a heavy hand held him captive.

"Y-you sh-sh-shut up, B-Bill," and the huge form of Stutter Brown loomed up directly between them, and that menacing rifle. "I-I reckon as how I'll t-t-take a h-hand in this yere g-g-game. Sh-she ain't no s-spy fer Farnham, er I 'm a l-l-liar." He touched her softly with his great hand, bending down to look into her face, half hidden beneath the ruffled black hair. "C-come, little g-g-girl, what's up?"

She made no response, her lips faltering as though suddenly stricken dumb. Beth Norvell dropped down from the pony's back, and stood with one hand resting on Mercedes' shoulder.

"She only came to show me the way," she explained bravely. "I-I have a most important message for Mr. Winston. Where is he?"

"Important, d-did you s-s-say?"

"Yes, its delivery means life or death--for Heaven's sake, take me to him!"

For a single breathless moment Brown hesitated, his eyes on the girl's upturned face, evidently questioning her real purpose.

"I c-can't right n-now, Miss," he finally acknowledged, gravely; "that's s-straight; fer ye s-s-see, he 's down the 'I-I-Independence' shaft."